


We Both Lit the Match that Burned the Bridge

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora wants Peter to pay for what he did to Lydia. With interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Both Lit the Match that Burned the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so maybe this isn’t what was meant by prompt #46 - interest. *grins* The title comes from the song "Bridges" by Lifehouse. As usual, I don’t own them, I just write them.

It’s complicated falling in love with the woman who wants to kill your uncle. But when Cora holds Lydia in the middle of the night, stroking her hair while she shivers through the after-effects of nightmares, she finds it in her heart to hate her own flesh and blood.

“I’ll take care of it,” she promises in whispers against Lydia’s hair. “I’ll make it stop,” she murmurs against pale skin, exhaling gently until Lydia arches under the feel of her breath, twisting into the touch and begging for more. Cora sends her back to the dreamlands on the heels of a blissful orgasm, leaving her sated and relaxed while Cora curls around her to protect her from the demons of the night.

In the light of day, Lydia pretends that everything is fine. Cora can see beyond the thin veneer of stability that Lydia wears, showing it to humans like armor and to wolves as a reminder to not dig deep beyond the surface of her scent. But Cora is allowed inside that veil, her nose buried at Lydia’s throat, tasting insecurity with her tongue, mixed with salt and sweat and fear.

Cora knows the moment that Peter returns from wherever he’s gone, that moment when Lydia faces him with her fists tightly clenched, body radiating anger that Cora can feel from three rooms away.

“You,” Lydia whispers, unable to find words.

“Me.” Peter’s reply is light and easy. Amused.

She feels the fear trickling in as Lydia steps back. “You.”

Cora is by Lydia’s side by the time that Peter steps into the small apartment, his confidence swelling to fill the room. He growls, eyes flashing a strange amber that’s more red than yellow, but not the deep bright blood of an alpha’s gaze. “Me.” He grins sharply, teeth long and bared, intending to intimidate.

He is no longer cowed by Lydia’s gaze. Something has changed, stripped away his regret, so that he refuses to admit that he had transgressed. And in the face of his confidence, Lydia’s veneer cracks.

She spends the pack meeting by Cora’s side, hands and fingers tangled, voice silent until the meeting is done. She waits until they are home again in Lydia’s room to speak.

“I’m going to kill him,” she says quietly. Firmly. She sits before her mirror, brushing her hair out after taking off her makeup. “I understand that he is your uncle, and that you share blood. And if you wish to stay away until it’s over, that’s your decision, Cora. But I am going to kill him, and then it will be done.”

“I’ll help.” Cora takes the brush from her hand, helps untangle red curls with a gentle touch. “He’s my blood, yes, but you’re my heart. And I won’t let him hurt you again.”

They plan in quiet voices, talking strategy and technique. They fit together here as well, with Lydia’s mind filling in the spaces that Cora doesn’t know, while Cora can detail out the physical abilities and the weaknesses that Peter might have. Neither of them knows exactly what he _is_ now. He isn’t alpha, nor beta, and he isn’t quite omega. He is something else, and Lydia labels him delta for the difference that he has created.

“It doesn’t matter what we call him,” she says sharply. “He isn’t going to last long enough to care.”

In the end, the plan changes at execution. When Cora has Peter on the ground, her claws sharp against his neck, he dares to laugh. He dares to taunt her, to tell her that he had Lydia first, and that he will _always_ be first in her mind. That there is nothing Cora can do, that she is merely a reflection of him, a second-place Hale.

Cora drives her claws into his spine, sliding between bone and nerve, slicing it sharply as she digs out his memories, burrowing deep until she sifts through and finds the one she wants. She shreds them viciously, taking them apart as if they never happened.

When Lydia begins to scream, Cora’s hand clenches, severing the spine. Her fingers drive deep and she feels him try to heal around her, feels the impossibility of his body trying to put itself back together. Lydia screams again, and Cora feels bones shatter under the strength of that sound, feels the way he shudders as if the force of the vibration of her voice rips him apart from the inside.

He dies beneath them both, and Cora wishes that they had done it differently. That they had drawn it out, tortured him as he tormented Lydia. She wanted to make him pay in the same way, only moreso. She wanted him to feel the misery of those nightmares.

She hangs her head, the weight of what they’ve done heavy on her shoulders until Lydia slides her hand over, brushing it away.

“Thank you,” Lydia murmurs, and she kisses Cora and smiles for the first time in months.

It’s all going to be okay, Cora thinks. He stole Lydia’s mind, and they’ve taken it back, with interest.


End file.
